


Paper Doves

by Shuri_on_Ice



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, voldemort - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25263229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuri_on_Ice/pseuds/Shuri_on_Ice
Summary: Summary:Draco hasn’t been quite the same since he got his Dark Mark. Plagued by nightmares as he tries to complete his task, he finds himself questioning everything he agreed to do. It doesn’t help that his head has been overrun by thoughts of a certain dark haired Gryffindor he has always been at odds with.Meanwhile, Harry struggles in the daily grind at Hogwarts, preoccupied with Voldemort’s lack of action since his return.  His meetings with Dumbledore only seem to confuse him more. As talk of love potions and relationship drama ensue around him, Harry finds his own feelings to be more complicated than he previously thought.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Potter the Potions Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written by 2 high schoolers, we've been working on this for a while and we're fairly proud of how it's turned out. Disclaimer: None of the characters or world-building are our creative property, they belong to our Lord and Savior Daniel Radcliffe because fuck jk rowling :)

Had it really been necessary to attack Potter?

Draco nearly cursed himself out loud for thinking like that. Potter had been spying, and the boy was his arch-nemesis. Everyone in his family wanted Potter dead. Draco had wanted him deadㅡ he still wanted him dead. 

Right? 

Draco blamed his thoughts on the impending weight of his task. Kill Dumbledore, and his father would be let out of Azkaban, and he’d be honored amongst the other Death Eaters. Kill Dumbledore, and his family would be protected from the Dark Lord’s wrath. That was all he wanted; his father back at home, and his family safe. He just wasn’t quite sure how to get that done.  
He had the vanishing cabinets, yes, but there was no guarantee… He would think about it later, after the feast.

“Are you alright, Draco?” Pansy asked suddenly, as the Slytherin’s took their seats in the Great Hall. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Trying to change the subject (as he had bragged about his task to his friends on the Hogwarts express), Draco blurted, “We might not have to deal with Potter this year.”  
Of course, in the act of avoiding one problematic subject, he’d brought another into the picture. 

Everyone’s interest peaked. They shared in Draco’s hatred for Potter, as most of their parents were Death Eaters or they themselves disliked the famous prat. Draco told everyone about his body-bind curse and kicking Potter to the ground of the train car, and soon the story was echoed down the entire Slytherin table: Draco Malfoy had beaten Potter! The excitement was crushed, however, when the boy, slightly bruised and battered, followed a very annoyed looking Hermione Granger into the Great Hall. 

Draco subconsciously noted the effect of the bruises on Potter’s face made him look quite dashing. He had started to notice the boy's good looks last year, but the marks seemed to amplify them... He cursed under his breath.

He sat through the feast in silence, only speaking when his friends spoke to him, and clapping when it was revealed that Professor Snape would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

Upon arrival at his dormitory, Draco immediately changed into his silk pajamas and closed the curtains on his four poster bed. He didn’t want to stay up talking to his roommates. Despite this, he listened to their quiet mutterings until he felt the lull of sleep come upon him. He let himself drift off. Sleep would clear his mind. 

***

Multiple times that night, Harry found himself staring into the endless pool of butterbeer in his goblet. Sure it was the start of the year banquet, but it was hard to enjoy himself with so many things he had to deal with. 

Ron and Hermione talked about the new joke shop, and he tried to nod along and comment every once in a while. Occasionally, he would even turn to say something to Neville, who was attempting to make conversation with Luna from across the house tables. But still, it was frustrating how easy it was to slip into the dull roar of the banquet hall.

To think, the heaviest burdens he'd had to bear in year one had been making friends, sheer curiosity, and the thought of having to go home to the Dursleys at the end of the year. Now the Dursleys were truly the least of his problems. Even Snape becoming the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor didn’t affect him.

Dumbledore had been even more evasive with his words than usual, almost showing weakness. Especially in bringing Harry along to contact Slughorn. Sometimes it was hard to remember that there was a method to Dumbledore's madness; that's all it felt like sometimes. Madness. And madness wouldn't do anyone any good for the inevitable fight against Voldemort. He rubbed absentmindedly at the bruises on his face, drawing queries from Hermione.

"You sure you don't need those healed?" She asked. "It's not that difficult a spell, honest." Harry shook his head, wincing a little at the sharp pain.

"No, it's no trouble. They'll heal soon enough."

"Funny no one's asked yet," Ron quipped, mouth full of chicken. "Thought everyone would be dying to know what went down. Wonder what would happen if word got out that bloody Draco Malfoy did it."

And then there was the whole problem with Malfoy.

Surely he'd done bad things before, and there was no doubt his parents would be up for something like that. But did Draco, whiney and stuck up Draco, sensitive and over emotional Draco Malfoy, really have it in him to be a loyal follower of Voldemort? And why? The only thing he was absolutely certain of was that Malfoy was a death eater. 

Clearly he had some motive or goal, whether it was assigned to him or it was of his own devices, and he'd have to deal with that this year as well. But it didn't make him angry to think about this, more just… curious. As a matter of fact, it had been growing harder and harder for Harry to hate the pure blood boy at all.

They were sort of similar when it came down to it, at least more than they had been before. Before Draco had been spoiled and bratty and able to get away with anything he wanted to. Now for the first time he was dealing with more human problems closer to what Harry felt. They both had responsibilities imposed on them in order to keep the people around them safe. They were different sides of the same coin.

And now that Draco probably had the added pressure of the safety of his parents, what with his father in Azkaban, Harry couldn't help but― if only just a little bit― sympathize with him in some way. His gaze wandered slightly from Ron and Hermione across from him, his vision shifting focus, and looked instead to the boy in question.

His face was paler than usual, his hair and clothes just slightly off from his general prim and proper facade. Contrary to that usual air of arrogant bravado, he just seemed stressed. Though in his current state he could probably still charm his way into or out of anything with one of his devilish smiles. 

For some reason, a quick pang went through his heart for Draco, one he'd felt often towards others. Like the strangest strong urge to protect him from whatever he was facing…

"Harry?" A voice said, snapping his focus back to the table. Ron pointed to his still full dish he'd been poking his fork at for the past ten minutes. "You gonna eat that?"

"Yeah, obviously." Harry said. Now slightly disgruntled, he tried to brush aside the thoughts from before. Draco wasn't even someone to identify with, much less to protect. And since when has he thought of him by his first name? No matter now, there were plenty of other things on his mind, plenty of other things to take his mind off of Malfoy.

***

Sleep did the exact opposite of what Draco had hoped. His dreams had been filled with visions of his failure at his task, the Dark Lord punishing his family further than ever, and Potter’s face tauntingly watching it all happen. 

Draco glanced in the mirror. Already, there was the slight appearance of grayish skin below his eyes. He silently cast a spell to make them less apparent. Surely people would notice them if he didn’t. 

Walking to the Great Hall, Draco thought about when these dreams had started. Before, Potter hadn’t been in them; they had just been various versions of Draco’s family being tortured or killed by the Dark Lord. When had Potter joined the picture?

It had been the night after he and his mother had gone to Diagon Alley, he realized. Potter had walked into the shop while Draco was getting new robes. He remembered vividly how it was then that he’d first really regretted the mark on his arm, how disgusted Potter had been. Draco assumed Potter had seen him avoid showing his arm to Madam Malkins. 

Draco sat down beside his friends. Next to him, Pansy smiled, casting him an appreciative glance. Confused, Draco looked around. He noticed Potter, not too far away, his bruises even more purple. 

After a few minutes, the Heads of Houses walked around, passing out the timetables. Draco had Potions third. Comparing with everyone else, he learned that he was one of only four sixth-year Slytherins in Potions. 

Draco sat down beside his fellow Slytherins. Beside their table were four Ravenclaws, and across from them was a Hufflepuff and Potter, Weasley, and Granger. Various potions were setting fumes into the air. One scent in particular caught Draco’s attention, as it was the most pleasant of the bunch, although he couldn’t tell what it was. On the Slytherin’s table was a vial of a clear liquid that seemed to be boiling. 

Professor Slughorn began to speak, asking who knew of the potions on each table. Granger was instantly able to answer. 

The potion on the Slytherin table: “Veritaserum.”

Ravenclaw table: “Polyjuice potion.”

Gryffindor-Hufflepuff table: “Amortentia.”

Draco zoned out until he heard Granger say, “It’s the most powerful love potion in the world!” So that was the pleasant scent he had smelled before. He tried to catch a whiff of it once more, and found that it smelled slightly of the treacle tart in the Great Hall, and the earthy scent of a broomstick handle. There was another scent among the mix that smelled like the aftermath of a fire. 

“Sir, you haven’t told us what’s in this one,” Ernie Macmillan said, pointing. Draco leaned forward to see the cauldron on Professor Slughorn’s desk. It looked like liquid gold.

“Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis.”

Granger instantly gasped and when called upon, exclaimed, “It’s liquid luck! It makes you lucky!”

Draco perked up. That was exactly what he needed! He would have to learn how to brew it… Hopefully it wasn’t too difficult. 

“Whoever brews the best Draught of Living Death will win a vial of Felix Felicis. One vial will last you twelve hours. You may begin.”

Draco opened his textbook (a freshly printed, limited edition copy of “Advanced Potion-Making” by Libatius Borage) to the table of contents. He found the recipe for the Draught of Living Death on page ten. Making a mental list, Draco grabbed all of the ingredients from the shelves around the room; Standard potioning water, Powdered Root of Asphodel, Infusion of Wormwood, Valerian root, a sopophorous bean, and a sloth brain. Unfortunately, the directions were vague. 

Draco poured the potioning water into his cauldron and added the Infusion of Wormwood, followed by the asphodel. The cauldron began to release a steady flow of blue steam right into Draco’s face. He looked away, trying to avoid the cerulean haze rising up from the darkness of his cauldron. All around him, the steam was filling the room, so thick that it was hard to see the two others at his table. He closed his eyes to enjoy the serenity of the humid classroom, silent due to everyone’s concentration. He hadn’t had a moment like this all summer.

There was a thud behind him. He turned around to see Weasley sink down to the floor and come back up holding his heavy wooden spoon. Draco rolled his eyes, wondering how anyone so incompetent could ever have gotten into a sixth year potions class. As for the other two in the trio; Granger was certainly good enough, as much as he hated to admit it; Potter, on the other hand, was a mystery. Draco and his goons had always sabotaged him, and his potion-making skills were more or less unknown. 

Draco looked back down at his work, realizing he hadn’t stirred it yet. He stirred clockwise two times, then added the slimy sloth brain. He stuck his tongue out as he did so and quickly wiped his hand on a damp towel. According to “Advanced Potion-Making”, the mixture should have been a deep purple color at this stage. Draco peered down, noting that it was more of a dark blue than purple. Next, he chopped up the Sopophorous beans into small pieces and squeezed their juice into the cauldron. 

Finally, he stirred the mixture counter-clockwise seven times. It should have been slowly becoming a lilac shade, and then completely clear, but it only became a slightly lighter shade of blue. Draco ran a hand through his hair, which had begun to lose it’s usual perfection in the humid air, knowing he hadn’t produced a proper Draught of Living Death.

***

Draco didn’t win the vial of Felix Felicis. 

It’s fine, he thought. I’ll just learn how to brew it. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? He took out his potions book as he sat down in the common room. He groaned when he read that the potion would take six months and was highly difficult to make correctly. Of course, the one potion he needed was one of the most difficult to brew.

“What’s wrong, Draco?” said Pansy, sitting down beside him. Greenish light filtered in from the window, causing Pansy’s face to look sickly. She looked down at his potions book. “Potions homework?”

“N― Yeah. Yeah.” He wished she would just leave him alone. He was tired of her constant need to be the center of attention. 

“Well, if you need anything I’ll be over there.” She gestured to the part of the common room closest to the windows. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

Smiling faintly, Pansy stood up, letting her fingers brush against Draco’s shoulder. Draco jerked his shoulder away as soon as she left, rubbing it as if that would do something.

For nearly two hours, Draco sat in the common room, pouring over his potions books. Perhaps there was something else that could be even more useful than Felix Felicis. It wasn’t until the soft chatter of people around him faded that he realized just how long he had been sitting there. Everyone had left for dinner.

He stood, ready to go to the Great Hall as well, but only felt a rumble in his stomach. Still, he put his books back in his room and went into the hall, deciding to take a short stroll around the school. 

It wasn’t long before he regretted it. 

He was walking past an alcove, staring at his well-shined shoes, when he heard a faint, “Draco?”. He thought he must have been hearing things and continued. Suddenly, his arm was pulled back by someone’s hand. It was Pansy. Of course.

“Sorry,” she said as he tore his arm out of her grip. “I saw you walk past and thought you might like some company.” She posed it as a question rather than a statement.  
“Uh―” Draco rubbed his arm behind his back. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone for once? “I don’t really need company…”

Pansy’s smile dropped slightly. It wasn’t until then that Draco remembered something his father had told him. “That Parkinson girl, she might not be the brightest, but she would be a good match for you.” He did not want their supposed friendship to be anything more. And yet there he was, a girl in front of him who was clearly waiting for affection, and all he could think about was his father’s advice. 

“She would be a good match for you.”

He took a deep breath, knowing that it was inevitable. Either he willingly participated in this relationship, or he was forced into it. He preferred the former. “...I’d be happy for you to join me.”  
Instantly, Pansy brightened, slipping her arm through his. Draco tried to imagine that he was back in the common room.


	2. Feeling Gaunt

Quidditch this year was going to be much more time consuming than before, Harry thought to himself as he looked out at the team he’d chosen. Tryouts had been a pain, especially since some of the students trying out weren’t serious. 

It was exasperating, watching people undermine the significance of the sport. Not only did it serve as a way to unite people at Hogwarts towards something other than academics or dire situations, it was a distraction. From things he didn’t want to spend his time on, and from things he couldn’t help but ponder. 

The team this year had taken far too long to select, he couldn’t fathom how Wood did this multiple years in a row. But finally he’d selected a team that actually gave him hope for the season. Katie and Ginny would be chasers, along with Demelza Robins, who was new to the team. Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote, two surprisingly skilled younger players, took the role of beaters since Fred and George had left. And Ron, of course, would be keeper.

As much as he wanted to hold practice with the new team all together, his head was too cloudy to focus on participating in a practice, much less leading one. At Ron’s suggestion, he’d decided to try and take the rest of the day easy, maybe even go visit Hagrid. Although it was hard to breathe easy with the anticipation of more private classes with Dumbledore, with both curiosity and dread lingering in the back of his mind. 

Right when he was about to turn to leave the Quidditch field, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Ginny.

“Just a thought Harry, when’s the first practice going to be? A couple of the new players are already tired from tryouts.” Harry glanced over her shoulder to see that the two new beaters were the last to leave the field, trudging a little as they packed their gear up.

“No more than a few days from now. I’m not sure yet though.”

“Oh. That’s alright. If you need help making the schedule…” Ginny trailed off nervously, tilting her head to the side. Harry watched her bright red hair spill over her shoulders a little. He’d never paid the color of her hair much mind because it was so similar to Ron’s, but hers was much brighter. And more well kept, though the bar wasn’t that high. Just briefly, he pictured running his hands through her hair, through the tangles all the way down to the end. But something was off.

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” he said with a smile. There was an awkward pause before the both went their separate ways, and he was left slightly disoriented.

Harry stopped in his dorm room before leaving for the day. He’d planned to visit Hagrid later with Ron and Hermione, just to make sure he wasn’t still sore about them dropping care of magical creatures. And Hermione had mentioned stopping in Hogsmeade for some fresh air before going back to study. It was the weekend, and other than Quidditch practice he didn’t have much to do, unlike Hermione, who’s workload seemed to be boiling over even more than when she used the time turner in year three.

This gave him plenty of time to think over his pensieve lesson with Dumbledore. He sat on the edge of his bed and opened his Potions book to look over more of the Half-Blood Prince’s writing.

In year four, the first time he’d looked into the pensieve, Harry had been overwhelmed by the situation. It was strange to say the least, and he’d been worried he might get hurt or stuck. Now it was much easier, though it was still difficult to piece together all the images. This time it had centered around the life of Voldemort’s mother, Merope Gaunt, and her love for Tom Riddle Senior, his father. Morfin Gaunt, Merope’s brother, had attacked the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, and their father, Marvolo, had defended his actions. The scene was still clear as ever in his mind.

What had shocked him most though was that, after attacking Ogden, Marvolo had gone after his own daughter. On account of her fancying a muggle. Merope had been incredibly unstable due to how she grew up, which is why Dumbledore had suspected she gave Tom Riddle a love potion to make him stay with her.

This insight into Voldemort’s family history made his drive and intentions clearer, but as of late it hadn’t served to bring Harry any closer to taking him down. All it had done was confuse him further.

Someone knocked at the door a couple times, and the door opened before he could respond. “Have you seen my scarf?” Ron said, stepping haphazardly through the mess of belongings strewn around the floor. “It’s getting chilly out, and Hermione’s whining about dressing for the weather or something.” Harry shook his head, only half listening.

There were a couple interesting spells written in the margins of the pages and he wanted to mess around with them to see what they could do. As he took down notes on a separate page about pronunciation and wand motions, his thoughts wandered.

He only had a vague image of what Tom Riddle Senior had looked like, but he couldn’t help but think about what it must have been like to have him as a father. And Merope’s side of the family was a far cry from rational or respectable. The idea of such a strangely cobbled together family didn’t make up for who Voldemort became, but it set a base for some of his ideologies.

Oftentimes it was easy to understand why people were the way they were by looking at their families. It was plain and clear to Harry where Ron got his personality from the more he got to know his family. And Draco… 

He shook his head a couple times and tried to focus more on the book. He’d given up trying to stop referring to Draco by his first name, it wasn’t a big deal anyway. What was more concerning was why he was thinking of him at all. 

“Oye, Harry. You listening?” He looked up to see Ron in the middle of either cleaning his things or looking for something; probably the latter considering the former didn’t happen often.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit preoccupied.” Ron scoffed and sat on the edge of his bed.

“You think Hermione and Ginny may have been right about the book? I dunno if it’s cursed but it’s still a bit odd.” Harry closed the book, careful to mark his page, and turned to face him.

“It’s kinda strange but I’m not about to lose sleep over it. It got me that potion, bet it’ll do more good later.” He stood up and stretched, noticing a Gryffindor scarf on the floor a couple paces away. “What’s with you always taking Hermione’s side anyway, I thought you two hated each other?” he commented, making a face as he tossed the scarf over.

“Oh sod off, you’re no better.”

Harry set the book down, checking to make sure the Felix Felicis bottle was still tucked out of sight. For better or for worse, a lot of things were changing right now. There were, of course, more important things to waste their thoughts on, but no one could help growing up a little. 

Oddly enough, Harry hadn’t found himself very distracted with emotions lately. His focus had been more on lessons with Dumbledore, with how to take down Voldemort, with the rise of death eaters and the possibility of Draco having become one of them.

He’d been thinking about Draco a lot lately. Huh.

He started towards the door to meet Hermione in the common area, then stopped to mention one more thing. “Hey, Ron? There’s some spells written in the margins of that book, I managed to figure out how to perform one of them. Levicorpus. I’m gonna give it a try before we go.”

***

It had been quite a while since school had started, and Draco still hadn’t made much progress on the vanishing cabinet. His skin had slowly become more and more grayish in tone, and he had lost weight. He had tried using spells to make himself look healthier, but they hadn’t worked. When his fellow Slytherins asked why his skin was so gray, he would come up with excuses, which they begrudgingly believed.

That morning, he woke up from a nightmare. He seemed to do that every day. His nightmare from the night before had been particularly strange. It was filled with a strange language he had never heard before, and then he had looked in the mirror and seen someone else’s face. He couldn’t recall whose, however. All he could remember about the face was that it had black hair and was bleeding heavily. 

Maybe these nightmares mean something, Draco thought as he buttoned his shirt. He pulled his jumper on and went into the small bathroom adjacent to his, Crabbe, and Goyle’s room. Normally, first years didn’t get to choose a room, but all those years ago Draco had bribed another boy into giving him the room. Having the sink and mirror right there had been very helpful since he had arrived at school this year. Now, as he brushed his teeth, he avoided looking in the mirror, not wanting to see what he had seen in his dreams. When washing his face, however, he dared to look at his reflection. 

His skin was even grayer and oilier than before, and a few pimples had popped up on his forehead. Frowning, Draco pulled out his wand and tried casting a spell to get rid of them and, thankfully, they got a bit smaller. Unfortunately, the spell did not work on the huge bags that had formed under his eyes. He sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do about them, and instead focused on scrubbing more soap onto his face in an attempt to make his skin less oily. Satisfied with his weak skincare, he slicked his hair back and went into the common room. 

As had become the norm, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle were waiting for him. The two boy's scowled, bored, while Pansy chatted with some of her friends. Draco walked up to them. 

“Are we going to Hogsmeade,” Crabbe asked gruffly when Draco sat across from them.

“No. I have more important things to do, and there’s Quidditch practice later,” Draco replied. Pansy finished talking to her friends and turned to face the three boys. Upon looking at Draco, she furrowed her brows. “What?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that you look very lifeless this morning.”

Draco bristled at the mention of his weakness. “What does it matter to you? I need to go to the library. I’ll see you later.” He stood and started to leave. 

“You’re not going to breakfast?” Her worried expression reminded him of his mother. 

“I’ll be fine.” He continued to walk towards the door. Crabbe and Goyle followed.

“Draco.”

He turned around again. “Pansy.” She glared at him. He glared back. It had been a long time since anyone but Potter had stood their ground against him. Pansy only did this when she was annoyed, but now she just seemed worried. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated it or not. He decided not to think about it and turned back to leave once more.

“Draco,” she said with more force than before, “let’s talk.”

“I really can’t. I have a lot of homework to do before Quidditch practice.” She was starting to get on his nerves.

“This is important. Crabbe, Goyle, you can go ahead to breakfast.”

Draco was sad to see them go, if only because he was now effectively alone with Aggravated Pansy. It wasn’t as though they would have been helpful if they were there. She motioned for him to sit next to her, and he reluctantly did so. 

She looked around before whispering, “You look terrible. What’s going on?”

Draco scowled. “It’s none of your business.”

“Actually, I think it is. We’re friends, and I’m worried about you.”

“Well you shouldn’t be. I’m fine,” he rebutted.

“Clearly you aren’t since you’re being so defensive about it. Plus you look as gray as a ghost.” Draco opened his mouth to speak but Pansy continued. “We’ve known each other since we were little, Draco. I know how you get when something’s wrong.”

“You had to play that card,” he said, silently cursing his parents for forcing him to play with the other pure-blooded children so long ago. The tips of Pansy’s mouth started to form a smile. “Fine. But please leave it alone.”

“Good. Now let’s see what we can do to make sure you don’t look like a ghost. I have a cream that can help to make your skin less oily, and maybe help with those bags under your eyes.”

***

The dimly lit streets of Hogsmeade brought a sense of comfort and familiarity, especially as the first patches of nighttime frost started to line the roofs and sidewalks. Ron had suggested they go directly to the Three Broomsticks for a pint but Hermione wanted to stop in Honeydukes first, and so he eventually gave in given he had lost two to one. Once inside he’d made an instant beeline for the cauldron cakes, while Hermione hung back a bit.

“Any reason we couldn’t have come here after a bit of Butterbeer?” Harry asked her, glancing around to look for the sugar quills.

“Not particularly, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t empty handed in case we were supposed to bring something to the Christmas Party.” There was probably no need of course, Slughorn wouldn’t expect everyone to bring something. But a couple more party favors wouldn’t do any harm. Harry grabbed a couple of extra candies and was about to meet Ron at the counter when Hermione stopped him. “Have you thought about the party much recently?”

“Not much, it’s still a little ways away. How come?” Hermione dropped her voice a little.

“I mean have you thought about who to invite?” Harry frowned a little. He hadn’t given much honest thought to it, Christmas still felt far into the future. But it was worth deciding earlier. Afterall, getting his date out of the way would avoid unnecessary drama, which everyone seemed to be wrapped up in at the moment.

Last time he’d had to bring a date somewhere he’d gone with Cho Chang, but she probably still hadn’t forgiven him for their relationship falling apart. And in any case, there were other options. He could always just go with a friend. He and Ginny had gotten closer over the year, it might have been fun to take her. Still undecided he shrugged and looked back at Hermione.

“I haven’t decided yet.” For a moment he worried maybe the reason she was asking was to go with him, but his fears were reassured instantly.

“Well I haven’t quite made up my mind yet either but I thought I might ask Ron. He seemed a little sore about not being invited, and I guess…” Before she could finish her sentence they heard the sound of swearing over by the counter. Ron had dropped a bunch of Galleons while attempting to pay for his sweets. Hermione stifled a laugh, shaking her head when Ron hit his on the edge of the counter as he stood up. 

“I’m sure he’d appreciate it,” Harry responded, “wouldn’t let him miss out on the party.” Hermione tilted her head to the side.

“S’pose you’re right.” Grabbing a last couple of sweets, Harry started towards the counter, turning to face Hermione while he walked.

“There’s no doubt he’d want to go,” He said quietly. “Better question is what’s stopping you from asking him?” Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched a couple more chocolate wands before following him to the counter.

Three Broomsticks didn’t fail to brighten their mood, to no one’s surprise of course. At first Hermione had sworn off the Firewhisky, but decided on a sip or two after Ron had some. They had talked about classes and friends and drama of all sorts, complaining about everything from problematic Slytherins to excess homework to professional Quidditch. The pub was bustling with customers due to the cold weather and the warm atmosphere of the shop.

As the minutes ticked by and people came and went, Harry found his nerves cooling, and he felt much more carefree than usual. 

Everyone seemed to have had the same idea when making plans, and he knew half the people walking in and out of the pub. Some members of the Slug Club came to chat, some of Hermione’s friends from other classes stopped by, and even Luna came in for a quick drink. Madam Rosmerta was as welcoming as ever, and it made for a refreshing twist to the end of the day.

There was one face Harry found himself looking for among the customers that afternoon. One particular face with a smug smirk and an unmistakable head of pale, platinum blonde hair. 

He and Draco hadn’t spoken in a while, it seemed, and that was rather out of the ordinary given how much rivalry they’d had in past years. When Ron had suggested they finally leave The Three Broomsticks for the night, he couldn’t quite remember if Draco had said much to either of them recently, and ended up asking about it out of curiosity.

It had begun to snow by the time they started the long, scenic walk back to Hogwarts. It was warm enough that it didn’t stick much, but heavy enough to cloud their vision of anyone walking ahead of them.

“I’m just telling you what I was told,” Hermione said with a laugh. “It’s not my fault some people are…”

“Bonkers,” Ron finished. “That’s the word you’re looking for. It’s a bit much if you ask me, going around giving people love potions. And how the hell do you keep it up, someone’s bound to notice if you keep slipping potion in someone’s drink.” 

“I don’t know, I hope no one’s thought that far ahead.” Harry still hadn’t really processed the idea of someone giving him a love potion, he wasn’t sure he knew the antidote, or even how to recognize it if it happened.

Just as they approached the exit to Hogsmead they heard a scream.

No more than 5 meters ahead of them two figures had frozen in their tracks, their faces hard to see through the array of snowflakes. The longer haired one, most likely the one who had screamed, shook and dropped something from their hands. Reflexively, Harry reached to his pocket for his wand, Ron and Hermione most likely doing the same.

The figure took a few jerky steps, as if to get away from the item, and rose suddenly into the air. Only once she’d risen to a hovering point in the air could Harry tell who the figure was, shaking and afraid with her eyes and mouth wide open. It was Katie Bell. 

Harry stared in awe and confusion as she wavered in the air. What could be causing this, what had happened to her? He thought back to the other day, when he had tested the levicorpus charm from the potions book, accidentally hanging Ron in the air near the ceiling. This didn't look like that, she had no control over her body, and was in pain, like a curse.

Katie dropped to the ground with a thud after only a few seconds went by. She landed in the snow, seemingly passed out. After coming to his senses, Harry thought to rush forward and see if she was okay when he heard a voice behind him.

“Don’t move any closer.” It was Hagrid. And thankfully so, he’d be able to take Katie to the infirmary. “And don’t touch what she’s dropped, it’s probably what’s gone and cursed her.” He pushed them aside and marched forward, looking Katie over before gently picking her up.

Hermione was the first to move after Hagrid started back towards Hogwarts; she crouched next to the object in the snow and picked it up by the wrapping paper surrounding it. “It’s a necklace.” 

Though it didn’t strike him as out of the ordinary at first (besides of course having been the cause of a horrific magical incident), but something about it stoked Harry’s memory as they were walking back. He’d seen it before, many months back. Just before school started, through the window of Borgin and Burkes. Right next to Draco.

The walk back to Hogwarts was eerily quiet, only the sound of footsteps and of Katie stirring every once in a while broke the silence. Hagrid led Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the infirmary, where Professor McGonagall met them to find out what had happened. Chances were the whole school would know by the time they left, especially considering they’d had to walk an unconscious body down the hall.

McGonagall would no doubt be questioning them to find out who’d placed the curse and why. It could just have been a practical joke or a first year magical mistake, but the chances of it being far more dangerous than that were high.

Harry wasn’t sure just what he’d tell McGonagall yet, but he knew what he wasn’t going to mention. There was no reason for Draco to have cursed Katie Bell, no understandable motive. And even if he had other plans, all this questioning would cause him was unnecessary pressure. He hadn’t even been there.

He couldn’t explain why he thought it, it was more of a feeling than anything credible. But when McGonagall asked him to recount the incident, he couldn’t find it in his heart to accuse Draco of the curse.


	3. The Puppeteers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor angst warning for a nightmare scene. It's been a while since we've posted but there's plenty more on the way. Hope you enjoy! <3

Draco hurried down the corridors. The school was dark, but outside, the moon shone brightly. As he strode towards Slughorn’s office, he couldn’t ignore his increasing lack of success in his effort to fix the vanishing cabinet.

Not only had he been working on fixing the cabinet, he had also been trying (and failing) to brew Felix Felicis. That was the reason he was heading to Professor Slughorn’s party. He figured his best chance at getting help would be from the Professor, despite the possibility of making himself look suspicious. He had avoided asking the Professor since the first potions lesson. 

But tonight, when the Christmas party carried on, Slughorn would most likely be tipsy, and that was just what Draco needed. 

The music and voices from the party became loud as Draco rounded the corner. Much to his dismay, walking in the opposite direction was Filch.

“What are you doing out of your dormitory, boy?” Filch snarled.

“I’m just on my way to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party, sir. I was a little late coming.”

“Really now? We’ll see.” Filch grabbed Draco’s arm and opened the door to the party. The light spilled out into the hall, as did the noise. Filch pulled Draco through the crowd until they reached Slughorn, Snape, and Harry Potter. Just behind them were Luna Lovegood― Harry’s date― and Professor Trelawney; the latter two were having an intense discussion about some conspiracy. 

Draco didn’t pay attention to what Filch and Slughorn were saying, too focused on the fact that he wouldn’t be able to corner Slughorn anymore. He was glancing around when he sensed someone watching him. Quickly, he looked over at Potter, who had a curious, suspicious look on his face. Draco felt himself heat up as he turned away. 

Potter was suspicious, and that only meant trouble. 

Draco figured that Potter knew about his Dark Mark, and that he had a mission from the Dark Lord, but he had assumed he knew nothing else. He’d have to be extra careful around Potter now. Not that he wasn’t already, and he was still having those dreams…

Since coming to school Draco continued to have nightmares, but as the months went on, Potter had become more and more a part of them. It was unsettling. Sometimes Potter would be there, taunting Draco over his failure, but other times, he was just sitting there, innocently watching as Draco’s parents were tortured. And other times… Draco didn’t care to recall the other times. When his unconscious mind had shown Potter as someone he should care for. 

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t fully process when Snape requested to talk to him in the hall. He followed the greasy-haired man into an empty classroom. Snape began to berate him about his mission, telling him that he could help. 

“No, I don’t need your help. This is my task, and mine alone,” Draco said, a forcefulness to his voice that he hadn’t used in a while. He stormed away before Snape could say anything else about the Unbreakable Vow.

As he walked down the hall, back to the dungeons, he heard a noise behind him. He spun around and pulled out his wand. “Who’s there.”

No sound.

Sighing, Draco continued to walk, but he heard someone else’s footsteps. It could only be one person. There was only one person who could follow him without being seen. 

“Potter,” Draco said through his teeth, sending a jolt of a spell at the spot where the prat must be. Sure enough, the invisibility cloak flew off, revealing him. “I would say you’re better than this but we both know that’s not true.”

Harry held up his wand. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Spying on me?”

“Oh. That. I wouldn’t call it spying, you're quite loud. Besides, I was already going to use the cloak to get back to Gryffindor Tower.”

Draco resisted the sudden urge to laugh. “You’re lucky that I’m not in the mood to kill you.” He put his wand back in his pocket. 

Disbelief came over Potter’s face. “You aren’t going to curse me?”

“Like I said, not in the mood. Goodnight, Potter.” He walked away. 

  
_Why the hell did I do that?!_

  
Draco ended up in the Room of Requirement instead of his dormitory. He wanted to work to get his mind off of what he’d just done. Since when was he willing to let Potter go unscathed, after he was spying?!

  
“Goddammit! I could have gotten rid of him!” Draco yelled as he paced back and forth between the vanishing cabinet and the stool he had been using while he attempted to make Felix Felicis. “It was probably my only chance...”

  
He continued to pace as he berated himself. 

  
_What is wrong with me?!_

  
He leaned against the cabinet and sunk down as tears of frustration started streaming down his cheeks. Soon he was sobbing uncontrollably, his whole body shaking. He couldn’t remember another time he had cried like this. Maybe when he was really little.

  
By the time the tears stopped flowing, Draco was exhausted. He wanted to keep working on the cabinet or the potion, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He drifted off into a nightmare.

  
Draco found himself in a dark gray hall with stone walls. He walked forward, and the walls began to morph into thick metal bars. Shadowy figures loomed around him. At the end of the hall was a man, dressed in dirty, torn clothing, his usually shiny, silky blond hair knotted and matted to his head. He was crouching on the ground, his face hidden.

  
“Father?” Draco cried, walking faster now. His father was farther away than he thought, and soon he was running, hoping to reach him. He was only a few paces away when the stone and metal shifted, forming a circular room, he and his father at the center. Draco spun and saw hundreds of people in the cells around him. They came closer, reaching through the bars as if to touch him. Draco looked at their faces. 

  
Potter. They were all Potter. Watching with that same suspicion as always, only more sinister. 

  
Gasping, Draco felt a bone-chilling cold run down his spine. The shadowy figures― dementors, he now realized― were upon him. Only, they weren’t after him. Beside him, his father whimpered as the dementors’ cold aura surrounded, their spindly fingers reaching out for his tattered robes. Draco brandished his wand, trying to ward them off, but no matter how many times he tried, he could not produce a patronus. In a last attempt, as the dementors descended, he lept in front of his father, shielding him, if only slightly. The dementors were not bothered. They continued to move closer, but never seemed to reach them. Wailing, Draco tried once again to produce a patronus…

  
A blinding light burst through the dark figures and the cold receded. Draco rolled onto his side, exhausted, seeing a faint, blurry figure with it's wand out, the light streaming from it. Before he could look any closer, he was forced to stand. Before him was one last dementor, but it wasn’t a dementor, was it? No, it was something even worse. The tattoo on Draco’s arm began to burn as Voldemort, wielding two X-shaped pieces of wood with strings attached, began to play with his limbs. The strings were tied around his wrist and ankles, neck and torso. 

  
He was running again, through longer and longer halls, until he reached another circular space. There was a loft, and below, nothingness. Standing against a full moon was Dumbledore, calm and collected as usual. Draco’s strings forced his arms to raise his wand towards the old man, and Voldemort spoke through him. 

  
**_“Avada Kedavra!”_ **

  
The green spell hurdled at the old man, who was now staring at Draco with Potter’s face. The spell ricocheted, hitting Voldemort and releasing Draco’s strings. Beneath him, Potter whimpered in a fetal position, just as Draco’s father had. The Boy-Who-Lived seemed smaller than ever, almost like a child, and Draco felt compelled to protect him. He stroked Potter’s messy black hair and whispered words of comfort until the sun started to rise. 

  
And then someone was calling for him, so Draco whispered one last thing and kissed Potter’s head before standing and floating away.

  
It was light outside by the time Draco woke up, blinking. How long he had been asleep, he had no idea, but he felt even more tired than before. He stood up and rubbed his back, which had become very stiff. He looked around briefly, grabbed his robes, and left, making sure to be careful as he exited. 

  
He walked down the relatively empty halls, trying to avoid people’s eyes. He knew he must look awful after having slept in the Room of Requirement. Sunbeams were shining through the windows, bringing a sense of warmth despite the winter chill outside. A strange calm fell over him. Somehow, although he’d had another nightmare, he felt more rested than usual. 

  
Looking out the windows, Draco saw many students enjoying a light snowfall. Tomorrow morning, the Hogwarts Express would be full, ready to take the young inhabitants of Hogwarts back home. This thought reminded Draco of his mission. He had been planning to go home to visit his mother over the break, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good idea anymore. He could use the time to work on the cabinet, and maybe even find another potion or spell that would be useful. 

  
_Perhaps there’s a spell for luck… I should look._

  
The Great Hall was filled with laughter and excitement. Although the train didn’t leave until the next day, the students didn’t have any classes that day. Draco spotted Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and a few other Slytherins sitting in a tight group. They seemed unnerved, worried even. Pansy especially. Draco hurried to sit with them. 

  
“Draco, there you are,” Pansy said. She planted a light kiss on Draco’s cheek, much to his dismay. He was grateful for her help with getting rid of the huge bags under his eyes, but he was still trying to avoid the inevitable. He wished he could just love her. That would make things so much easier. “Where were you? Crabbe and Goyle said you never came back to your room.”

  
“Oh, yes. I went to do some studying in the library and I fell asleep.” He wasn’t planning on adding Pansy to the short list of people who knew where he was spending all of his time. Only Crabbe and Goyle knew, and they didn’t even know what he was doing in the Room of Requirement, only that it was related to his mission from The Dark Lord. 

  
“You need to stop staying up so late. Have you been using that cream I gave you?”

  
Draco served himself some eggs and a scone. “Yes. I wasn’t able to today, though.”

  
“Of course. Anyway, I was thinking last night about Christmas break.” She paused, looking at Draco. He swallowed his bite of egg and looked back at her. 

  
“What about it?”

  
“Well, I exchanged letters with my mother, and she says you and your mother are welcome to stay with us for Christmas or New Years. What do you think?”

  
Draco nearly spit out his food. He was quiet for a moment, continuing to chew. He didn’t think that their “relationship” had progressed that far. In fact, he had tried his best to make it move as slowly as possible. Apparently Pansy was much more oblivious than he thought. Or much more in love with him than he thought. “I’m not sure. I’d have to ask my mother.”

  
Pansy seemed a bit confused. “I suppose so.”

  
“I’ll send her a letter later today.”

  
Suddenly, hundreds of owls flew into the Hall, their hoots filling the crowded room with even more noise. One particularly majestic creature landed in front of Draco, a letter in its beak. It was his owl, Ulysses. Draco had never been very fond of the owl, and left him to stay at home mostly. “Thanks, Ulysses,” Draco said after the bird dropped the letter in front of him. “Go to the owlery. I’ll need you to bring my letter back to Mother.”

  
Draco opened the letter. It was not very long, but he found comfort in reading his mother’s handwriting. It was written in a dark, purply ink.

_Draco,_

  
_I wanted to write to you about our plans for your Christmas break. It will be strange without your Father, but I believe we can make it work. Bellatrix will be coming to stay with us for Christmas eve, and possibly longer, if she would like. I also arranged for us to visit with the Parkinsons._

Draco’s jaw dropped slightly. 

_I heard from them that you and Pansy have become closer in the past few months, so her mother and I thought it would be nice to spend New Years together. Of course, you are welcome to change the plan. I’m sorry for not consulting with you first, but it is hard to exchange so many letters with you, and I already see Pansy’s mother fairly regularly._  
_I will see you soon._

  
_Love,_

  
_Mother_

He folded the letter back up and shoved it into his pocket. Even his mother was bent against him. 

  
“What was that about?” Pansy inquired. 

  
“Just about Christmas plans. My aunt is coming to visit.” Draco took one last bite of his scone and stood up. “I have some things to do.” He was walking away before Pansy could even respond.

  
There was no way he was going home. Not if he was going to be forced to spend more time with Pansy with both of their mothers watching. He was sick of being manipulated. He loved his mother, truly, but it was too much. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t trying to get her husband back. She was putting all of that weight on Draco. All of the Death Eaters were. How did she expect him to kill Dumbledore, save his father, and get a girlfriend all at once?!

  
Seething, Draco passed the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables to reach the doors. He scanned the Gryffindor table quickly, looking for Potter but also wary about seeing him. He wanted to avoid the Boy-Who-Lived as much as possible after the night before. He was still wholly upset with himself about that. Thankfully, he did not see Potter’s tousled black hair or big green eyes sitting at the Gryffindor table.

  
As he walked out of the Great Hall, a few Slytherin seventh-years passed him and nodded in his direction. Draco repeated the gesture. He continued to walk, trying his best to hide his frustration at his mother and his whole situation. Around him, the people in the paintings relaxed in the morning sun. The halls were quiet. So quiet, in fact, that Draco could hear the sudden voices of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley coming his way. And wherever those too were, Potter would most likely be with them.

  
Thinking quickly, Draco ducked into a doorway and snuck into the empty classroom it led to. He was suddenly very hot. He waited until the trio passed before exiting, casting a brief glance in their direction before continuing on to the dungeons. He ambled down the halls and stairs, coming up with a draft of the letter he would write to his mother.

  
He arrived at his room, having walked past a few other students mingling in the Slytherin common room, which was almost glowing from the greenish light that came through the windows. His room had the same green hue. It was funny really, how he had become accustomed to the clear, whitish glow of the sun in the Room of Requirement. He sat down at his desk, pulled out a piece of parchment, an envelope, and a fresh quill, and began to write. The parchment crackled as he placed the quill tip down.

_Mother,_

  
_I am glad you wrote to me, as I was thinking about whether or not I should come home for Christmas this year. I know it would be hard for you if I don’t, but I believe it is necessary. You see, I haven’t made as much progress on my project as I wanted to have done by now, and I think it would be beneficial for all of us if I could put all of my energy into it. I can only hope I will be done by spring. If not, I do have another year here to finish, although I don’t believe that he will be very happy with me― or any of us, for that matter― if that happens._

  
_As for the visit with the Parkinsons, I am afraid you must tell them that I cannot join, but don’t go too far into the specifics. It is not just that I have to work on this project that I would prefer to stay at Hogwarts. It is also Pansy, the Parkinson’s daughter. I’m afraid to say that while we are in a relationship of sorts, I don’t think we are so far as to be meeting each other’s parents as a couple. I do plan on it in the future, but not quite yet. I hope you can forgive me, and I hope the Parkinson’s can too. I plan to talk to Pansy after sending this letter._

  
_Merry Christmas,_

  
_Draco_

Of course, as he walked back through the common room, Pansy and a few of her friends returned from breakfast. She was looking over at Draco, slightly worried but mostly embarrassed while her friends poked her and laughed. Finally, Pansy said something to them and they scurried off like mice. She watched them go before turning back to look at Draco once more. She motioned for him to come over. Not wanting to upset her more than necessary, Draco took a few long strides and was at her side. 

  
“What were your friends saying?” he asked.

  
“Oh nothing, just teasing me. I was telling them about how you and your mother are probably coming for tea one afternoon over break.” Draco looked at the floor. “Anyway, would you like to go for a walk? I know you’re busy and everything, but I think it might help you destress a bit. All you ever seem to do is study these days.”

  
“Well, alright. Do you mind going up to the owlery? I need to stop by to send a letter to my mother.”

  
“Of course. I actually have a note to my father with me. I may as well send it. Should we go now?”

  
Draco smiled in response. Grinning and blushing slightly, Pansy grabbed his hand and interlocked their fingers. Immediately upon stepping into the dark dungeon halls, Draco spotted a mistletoe that he did not remember being there before. Sure enough, the farther they walked, the more Christmas decorations there were. They seemed to be appearing randomly throughout the castle. Pansy’s demeanor became happier and happier the more decorations they saw.

  
“Pansy.”

  
“Yes?”

  
“I’ve decided to stay at Hogwarts for the break. I’m sorry to disappoint, but, of course, that means I can’t come for tea.”

  
“Oh.” She frowned. “Well, why are you staying? I thought you’d want to see your mother, especially now.” Her voice faded off. 

  
“I figure that I can focus more time on some things that I haven’t been able to do with classes and Quidditch going on.”

  
“I guess that makes sense. Maybe you won’t be so stressed after, then. Once you get those things done.” She hesitated before continuing with, “And then we can spend more time together.”

  
“Exactly.” With that, her joyful mood returned, and she squeezed Draco’s hand. He tried his best not to grimace.

  
The owlery was empty when they arrived. Pansy finally let go of Draco’s hand and went searching for her owl. Draco spotted Ulysses easily; he was probably the biggest owl in the entire owlery. Before handing the majestic bird his letter, Draco found a bag of owl-feed. He scooped up a few pellets and held it out for Ulysses to eat. The owl cooed; a slow, deep sound. When he finished eating, he held his beak open until Draco placed the letter there. 

  
“You should tie it to his leg, you know. It’s much more comfortable for them, I’d assume,” Pansy uttered, looking shyly at Draco and his bird. 

  
“Ah… I suppose so, but Ulysses was trained to carry letters in his beak. It would be difficult to re-train him.” Pansy’s shy smile turned into a light smirk. “What?”

  
“You don’t have to be so formal around me, you know,” she said, a giggle behind her voice. 

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“ ‘I suppose so’? ‘It would be difficult’? You don’t talk like that around your friends.”

  
“Oh. I guess not.” Draco nodded at Ulysses, who took off, gliding away into the bright sky. 

  
“That’s better. I don’t know why you do that. It’s silly. We’re friends, aren’t we?” She had come to stand next to him, ready to walk back to the Slytherin common room. Draco avoided her gaze. He didn’t feel like he could ever be friends with Pansy. She was sweet, sure, but how could he be friends with someone who he was forced to be with.

  
“Yeah,” he replied, feigning a smile. Pansy grinned, and suddenly, her lips were on his. He stumbled, caught off guard. He felt the steam, all the bottled up frustration inside him trying to come out, to scream at her. He was about to shove her away when the tiny voice inside of him that belonged to his father said, _“You mustn't disappoint her. Give her what she wants.”_

  
So he did. 

  
He returned the kiss, gently, and felt Pansy smiling against him. Draco felt like he had aged years before she finally pulled away.


End file.
